The Other Side

From my journal yesterday:

Last week we had over seven inches of rainfall in less than two days that left many roads in rural Wisconsin in disrepair and many creeks and rivers swollen.  Today I can walk once again up to the bank of Tom’s Creek but I still can’t walk across it to the other side.  

I’d like to hike on the trail to the knoll and look for mushrooms and smell the sweet pine trees that fill up all the open spaces in the woods over there, if I could just get to the other side.  I’ll have to wait until the water recedes enough to allow my knee boots to stay dry on the insides when I cross it.

I'm sitting on the creek bank on this balmy Sunday afternoon for a little journaling,  I’m enjoying the water sounds and watching the white bubbles flow quickly past me as they swirl around on the water’s surface, ever changing, never staying the same.

I can hear a few crickets chirping but it seems as though they are winding down and not nearly as noisy as they were a few weeks ago.  An occasional tree frog sings by itself in the woods on the other side.  A stiff breeze blows from the west.  It feels cooler now, as if the wind is trying to push the humid air away, like it’s saying “good-bye” to summer and “hello” to fall.

I don’t need to get to the other side of the creek today if I really think about it.  This side is good enough.  You and I need to remember to enjoy whatever side we’re on until the water levels go down and we can cross our creeks once again.  We need to be patient and enjoy what we see today, where we see it, and stop reaching all the time for more, for bigger, or better things, and appreciate what we already have, on whatever side of the creek we’re on right now.

As I made my way back to the cabin a young doe and I stared at each other for a moment, on this side of the creek.

Wisconsin to Montana - Making A Dream

Excuse me for deviating from my blog title... but today I'm going to share a bit about my journey last week to Gold Creek, Montana, at Camp Mak-A-Dream.  I was blessed to be able to attend a unique retreat for ovarian cancer survivors, pleasantly finding myself surrounded by sixty-one women all in the same boat as me, from all across the country.  It is hard to explain the comradery I felt, the friendships I've made, and the beautiful Montana scenery that I relished in.

Camp was a time for healing, for learning new ways to cope, and for celebrating life.  I am grateful for the experience and will never forget the kindness that everyone who attended and the staff at camp showed me.  I found myself quite busy with all the activities camp staff had planned but want to share a bit of journaling and will revert to my notes from September 12th, 2016.

... This is my last day at camp.   I awoke at 6:00 a.m. MT time, rearranged my stuff, and started repacking for the long journey back home to Wisconsin later this morning.  No time to waste sleeping, the sun will soon be rising.

I chose to climb the side of a mountain west of camp by myself before breakfast and trudged slowly up a small part of the "butte" until I came to a corner in the fence line of this 87 acre ranch, and sat down on the dried up golden prairie grass with my journal and pen in hand.  This pen was given to me by a good friend whom I met at a place where I used to work named Artie Hamm, a trucker who always wore bib overalls.  He passed away from cancer of the spine.  I thought Artie would get a kick out of me bringing this pen with his name on it, a sort of Christmas handout, to Montana with me.  

As I looked around at this spot I chose to write from, I found a small bone or shed from an unknown animal, laying on the ground beside me.  It was only about 2" long, but I marveled at it along with clusters of dried up elk droppings on the ground, much larger than whitetail deer scat I am used to seeing back home.  As I look up at the mountains I can see trails where the elk cross to the south of me.

Mountains surround me on all sides.  Black cattle, along with a few brown ones, free range below me in the valley and I can hear an occasional cow bawling in the distance.   

The flag flies at half staff below me at Camp, in remembrance of 9-11 yesterday.  

My journey to this OVC fall retreat has been all and more that I hoped it would be.  It has given me the feeling of being "unalone".  We all have our own cancer journeys that we've been following, but each one of us shares so many similar experiences and feelings; sadness, frustrations, hopes, and dreams.

Pink skies begin to appear amidst gray clouds as the sun slowly rises this morning.  The beauty of Gold Creek is hard to pen.  To complete the scenery, down in the valley below me a train rolls down the tracks and blows it's whistle as it passes by the 150 year old Gold Creek Post Office, open from 2 - 4:00 p.m. on weekdays.  

As I watch the sun pop through the clouds I hear laughter from new friends, climbing the Butte behind me.  With the help of two Wisconsinites, I made it to the top of the Butte Friday morning in the fog.  Including myself, there are twelve women here at Camp from Wisconsin, none I had met before.  

Time to explore and appreciate one last time the rocks, the clouds, the mountains, new friendships, and the beauty of Montana.  I am grateful today for all that has been given to me in this life on earth.  Right now I think it's more than enough to get me through the rest of my cancer journey.

Artist's Palette - Water Shield

When I look at you, I see... an artist's palette.

Today we glided across the pond in our old aluminum Smoker Craft canoe, me up front with a camera and my hubby in back with a paddle.  I was thinking the other day, as autumn nears, that water shield leaves now overcrowding the water's surface in our pond (Brasenia schreberi) are beginning to look like artists' palette's.  I picture in my mind the artist, an elderly gentleman, glasses perched at the edge of his nose, standing in front of his stretched canvas and easel, a wooden palette in his left hand, and an old camel hair brush in his right.  The palette has been his friend for years with layer upon layer of paint, a work of art in itself, coating it's wooden surface.

The water shield plant has small oval shaped leaves that float on the water's surface and grow in places where depth is seven feet or less.  It's leaves are attached in the center to purple stems beneath the surface; both the undersides of the leaves and the stems are coated with a gelatinous substance.  Water shield leaves lack the cut out portion or slit of the larger lily pad leaves but often grow next to one another.  Although great for fish habitat, the leaves can become so dense that they make it difficult to take a cast for fish.  We've learned that water shield plants can be eaten.  Although we have never tasted them, it's comforting to know that with their abundance we will never starve in summertime!

This time of year the colors of the green water shield leaves take on more orange, yellow, red, and purple hues.  The leaves make a great resting spot for spiders, water bugs, and moths.  I love to gaze at the unique swirls and colorations on them that sometimes resemble marbling and agate like patterns.

If you stare at the beautiful water shield leaves long enough they can almost hypnotize you... another wonder of nature often taken for granted that can be seen in most shallow Wisconsin ponds and lakes this time of year.

Water Lily with larger leaves growing amongst smaller Water Shield leaves